


Warless

by korik



Category: Final Fantasy XII
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Character Study, F/M, Fluff, Implied/Referenced Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-11
Updated: 2015-01-11
Packaged: 2018-03-07 03:45:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 310
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3159968
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/korik/pseuds/korik
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They have never gone to war except when they meet and all other eyes turn away.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Warless

The pile of bedding, a menagerie of gold and white carefully stitched by hand, breathes. In and out, so slow, steady, even loosely wrapped and clinging to the window, he feels lost in the sound, muted as it is, able to dream while half sitting on the stone. So much he wants to bend his head, close his eyes, and forget. But how? How can he forget the winding of his frame to hers, a majesty of youth and life, bright and wild despite words and the tangle of fibers he unwound to find purchase on her skin?

Is he even happy now that he has found the differences he had only before daringly dug out in the depths of his mind? He supposes so - happiness is not, in his way, the thing that makes him laugh wildly, uncontrollably. No, happiness is to stay, to linger here at her bedside though his usual instincts whisper he should make himself scarce.

It suits him, better than he thought, this web he has dipped his foot into, listening to the high pitched sounds of strain, aching to be felt and molded to collect dew with the slow rise of the sun’s head.

There’s a twitch, heavy and disorienting as he rights himself from slipping off the edge. It seems that, despite the light pushing through the frame of the room, illuminating the fairest traces of books and ink, the wind of clothes that make their way into shadows and back to the warmth of the bed, sleep sneaks slowly around him despite years worth of careful management and a partial addiction to schedules and ensuring time was never forgot or wasted.

Air escapes the seal of his lips and, tentatively, he makes his path back to her and the slow rise and fall of those knitted blankets and their promise of warmth.


End file.
